Ray's Place — Podcast Mindcapture, Small Beds, The Truth About Twins

READER: I'm usually doin' three answers per post. But is that too much reading for you? I like your experience of me to be crisp and punchy, not some big boring-ass obligation. Tell me in the comments! Maybe I could just do one answer a few times a week, instead. Anyhow, HERE...WE...GOOOOO! (Pronounced "Go" not "Goo")

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Dear Ray, I have seen many intelligent, accomplished people in life who, after staring at their phones too much, fall into some type of madness, be it paranoia or just an inability to converse in normal human words or ideas. How would you cure and/or rescue a loved one who has succumbed to this? — Jason P. 

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There Is A Frown In J-Town,

Yeah, I seen that happenin’ all over, especially with that little Emerils guy. He’s been wearin’ earbuds (off-brand, not AirPods, they had like a blue part) 24/7, listenin’ to podcasts about whatever it is that that guy believes in, and at parties he gets Beef cornered and just lays…it…down. Beef always looks kind of vacant, ’cause he just wants to talk about Trashspotting or the baseball of the 1915’s or whatever, but I’ll overhear Emerils sayin’ words like “ideological capture” and “false flag” and know my boy is on the slow train to the barley museum.*

My position on this situation has to be, “Beef, you got yourself into this bringin’ Runt City to a good time, I ain’t comin’ to save your ass,” you know? Beef has to learn not to bring Emerils to parties. 

(That Spongebath guy is alright, though. He’s always got a couple ladies around him crackin’ up, and that’s great for my party’s look.)  

Anyhow, the only thing you can do to try and compete with the sophisticated algorithms that have taken his mind is to keep forwarding him the video of the guy falling off the ski lift. Every time he watches it, the algorithm will learn that he loves this stuff, and keep giving him more awful accident videos, until he cracks and “takes a social media break.” You know, A Clockwork Orange style. He’ll be scarred for life, but who ain’t at this point.  

-=Royhoolicious=-

* The “slow train to the barley museum” was what came into my head when I tried to picture a dreadful afternoon. Maybe kind of Soviet lighting? Train lurches now and then, and anybody who’s wearin’ lipstick, it’s way too high contrast for their skin? 

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Dear Ray, What is the max age a dude can rock a full size bed before it becomes weird/sad?

— R

R, 

Don’t you mean minimum age? Oh, wait, you said bed, not beard. I have my monitor set to infra red, cause it’s almost bedtime, and it makes reading a little harder so that I’ll give up and get some sleep. Anyhow, you have a full size bed? Like they use on porn sets, to make the body parts look bigger? Dude, where did you even get that thing?! Ick! Get rid of that thing! You probably have Buttzonga De Whootytang’s DNA on you! Ha ha ha! Hey everybody, look at R over here! He’s about to grow a platinum wig and forget to shave around one of his ankles! 

Hilarious. 

’Smuck

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Dear Ray, My twin brother refuses to go to the sushi spot with me. He says he doesn't do raw fish and won't believe me when I say how good it is. We're twins! If my taste buds think it's good, wouldn't his? How do I convince my brother to get down on some sushi with me? Since old times, Chris

Chris, my boy, 

That ain’t a taste bud thing. It’s much deeper, and you actually may not want to know what’s really goin’ on here. Like, if you stop reading now, that’s cool. Other people will keep reading, though, because their lives won’t change the way yours will. 

So, you mention you’re twins. Probably identical twins. Now, nature doesn’t need two “identical” anything. Her machinery don’t do that. Her job is to pump out slight variations to see what wins. In the case of twins like you and your brother (who I’ll refer to as Guzman, for simplicity), one twin is always lower-quality. Not necessarily in a visual way, but, like, fine with everything that comes on the radio, wearin’ a rayon golf shirt to a nice dinner, etc. In his case, this shows up as not liking sushi.  

Here’s where it gets tricky. You are biologically meant to vanquish your brother, in order to demonstrate your understanding of your Arete (living to your full potential) to your tribe. I don’t mean you got to do the guy in, but you must drive him from your family seat. Some place far away, with poor resources you will never require. One such place is Branson, Missouri. 

Maybe tell him there’s a Widespread Panic concert there, and hand him a one-way Greyhound ticket. He’ll probably get married to someone else who’s doing Molly in the parking lot, and that’s that. Biblical.   

Hope this helps. And hey, congrats on bein’ the better brother. 

-=R=- 

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Confidential to Krylon_Kal: I also don't like that "trance of the angels" sound that electric cars make when they drive real slow. But, since electric cars need to emanate some kind of gentle audible warning, I think it should be just the Ezra Klein podcast.  

(When the car drives in reverse, the podcast could play in reverse.)